


Overheard

by sassyjumper



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Gen, post-episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27536104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassyjumper/pseuds/sassyjumper
Summary: One conversation House and Wilson might have had on the drive home from John House's funeral.
Relationships: Greg House/James Wilson
Comments: 20
Kudos: 56





	Overheard

**Author's Note:**

> I just found an old 2012 fic I never posted here, so .... why not? This was written for a Livejournal "Dropped Plot Challenge." I chose to write a scene following the end of the famous S5 episode "Birthmarks." It also incorporates a bit from the S6 episode "Brave Heart."

“So. Why barn restoration?”

Wilson squinted but kept his eyes on the road. “Pardon?”

“Barn restoration. Why?” House thought if he rearranged the words, his question might be clearer.

“You…How do you—”

“The how isn’t important. My question, however, is very important.”

“Of course.”

“So answer it.”

“I don’t know. It just seemed—Wait. No. The _how_ is important. How the hell would you know about that?”

House sighed heavily. “I told you I hired a PI, didn’t I?”

Wilson opened and closed his mouth. “But…How would he know something like that?”

“High-powered binoculars, I imagine. Now, getting to my question—”

“He _watched_ me at home?” Wilson’s gaze was still responsibly directed at traffic, but his agitation was clear in his voice and his grip on the steering wheel.

House almost smiled.

“What, exactly, is confusing about the letters ‘P’ and ‘I’? Of course he watched you. I told you he saw Cameron and Cuddy.”

“I-I guess I just thought he saw them coming and going.” Wilson paused. Even in profile, House could see realization blooming across his face. “God…Did he bug my apartment, too?”

“Again, you seem to be struggling with the concept of spying.”

Wilson’s right cheek was a pleasing shade of pink now. “House,” he said, nearly growling. “That is so out of line.”

“You say that as if you’ve never met me before.”

Wilson fumed silently. House waited roughly 30 seconds before deciding he’d given Wilson enough time to get over it. “So. Why barn restoration?”

*******

“You don’t have to pull over just to answer a simple question,” House said, as Wilson took the next off-ramp. “And if you want to have a heart-to-heart, West Virginia rest stops are not the ideal locale.”

“I don’t plan on talking,” Wilson said calmly. “I’m gonna slow down and push you out.”

House scoffed. “You wouldn’t dump me in the middle of redneck territory…OK, you might. But you’d come right back.” He looked at Wilson. “You always come back.”

Wilson set his jaw as he pulled into a parking space. When he turned toward House his face was unreadable.

“You had some strange guy peeping through my windows, and…listening to me?”

House furrowed his brow. “What are you so worried about? You devoted your time to Cameron, meditation and barns. That’s, like, the trinity of boring.”

Wilson bit his lip and darted his eyes toward the dashboard.

House peered at him. “What? Did you have some particularly passionate nights with yourself? Afraid Lucas overheard—”

“God, you’re an ass,” Wilson broke in, casting a disgusted glare.

“Or maybe not by yourself?” House pressed.

Wilson laughed humorlessly and shook his head. “No, House. You’ll be happy to hear that I’ve been completely alone. Other than Cameron and Cuddy coming by to pity me, I…”

Wilson looked down and started fiddling with his keys, and House suddenly felt a dull little ache in his chest. No—apparently that didn’t make him happy.

But all he said was, “So what’s the problem then? Have you been having some good cry sessions?”

Wilson looked at him in surprise.

House shrugged. “No need to be embarrassed. Your girlfriend dies, you don’t lose man points for crying…You do, however, for the fluffiness of your hair. You look like Farrah Fawcett. What is _up_ with that?”

Again, Wilson looked slightly taken aback. _A few months away from me and he’s losing his edge,_ House realized.

“Um,” Wilson said, knitting his eyebrows together, “I guess I haven’t been paying attention to that stuff lately. Forgive me.”

“So is that it? The crying. Is that what you’re worried about?”

Wilson let out an exasperated little sigh. “I just…It creeps me out that some strange guy was watching me when I thought I was alone. I think that’s a normal human reaction, don’t you?”

House rolled his eyes. “And you are all about the normal reactions. Normal people would go to grief counseling, so that’s what you did. A normal person would have gotten away from me years ago—”

“Can’t argue with that one,” Wilson cut him off, with enough of the old-school Wilson sass that House couldn’t help smirking.

“So you got away from me,” House continued after a beat. “Normal people would take up peaceful, meaningful activities that make them feel like they’re doing something to _heal._ So you’re considering the barn restoration field.”

He looked at Wilson, who’d gone back to gazing at his keys. “I have news for you, Wilson. You have never been normal…And that’s not an insult, by the way.”

Wilson was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, he kept his eyes down. “I know that’s not an insult to you, House. But I—I want my life to be…easier.”

“Boring, you mean.”

Wilson smiled wanly. “Nooo. Y’know, there’s nothing wrong with wanting some peace.” He shook his head. “It shouldn’t be this hard. Life shouldn’t be just…waiting for the next bad thing to happen.”

House nodded. “I can understand wanting to have less pain.”

Wilson turned his head a bit and looked at him from under his ridiculous fluffy hair. House knew he should probably say something hopeful or comforting here. That’s what a normal person would do.

But he was who he was.

“I get it,” House said. “But aren’t you the guy who told me, almost poetically, that dying is easy—it’s the living part that’s hard?”

Wilson blinked.

“Turns out you were right,” House went on, feigning wonderment. “Living is hard. Staying at home with your nose in meditation books doesn’t really change that.”

Wilson just kept blinking like an owl. House couldn’t tell whether he might push him out of the car as originally planned.

Then Wilson cleared his throat. “Well,” he said softly, dropping his gaze again. “I’ve been playing video games, too. I just bought _Grand Theft Auto._ ”

House felt his lips twitch. “What would your gang of grievers say?”

Wilson shrugged a shoulder. “I stopped going. It, uh, didn’t seem to be helping.” He glanced at House. “I never said much about myself anyway. I kept feeling like I should be comforting everyone else.”

_Of course you did._

Then House remembered something Lucas had told him, and he felt his throat tighten. He wanted to know if it was true, but asking directly seemed so…

_Fuck it._

“Right,” House said, trying to sound casual. “You don’t like to talk about your personal life…Lucas said you never talked about me, to anyone.”

Wilson looked up sharply. “He said…Oh.” His face softened then, into something like relief, House noted.

Before he had a chance to ponder that, though, Wilson fumbled on. “Well, no, I guess not. Cuddy and Cameron never brought you up. And I—I didn’t think…It’s just been easier that way, House.”

House shrugged it off. “Yeah, I figured.”

There was an awkward silence where they both tried to decide where to look. But soon House could feel Wilson eyeing him.

“What?”

Wilson smirked a little. “So all this PI dug up was that I’m reading about meditation and barns, and _not_ talking about you? And you paid him how much?”

“That’s not important,” House insisted, then looked at his watch. “So can we get back on the road? I’ve got a DNA paternity test to do, and a number of _Real Housewives_ episodes to catch up on.”

Wilson looked out his window. “Well, since we’re here, don’t you at least wanna get out and stretch your leg?”

House narrowed his eyes. “You get out first. I don’t trust you.” As Wilson opened the driver’s side door, House reached out his hand. “And give me the keys.”

Wilson turned to look at him. “Oh-ho, no. You already owe me a flashlight.”

House lolled his head against the car seat. “You cannot be serious. You’ll survive with only one emergency flashlight, MacGyver.”

Wilson gave a slight shrug. “Two’s better than one,” he said as he got out of the car.

The door shut and Wilson began to stroll away, hands in his pockets. House stayed put a while longer, watching him and remembering the last time he’d seen Wilson walk away. This time felt a lot better. And this time House would follow.

*******

As he walked away from the car, Wilson exhaled a long breath. Either that Lucas character wasn’t the greatest eavesdropper, or he actually had some respect for people’s privacy despite his profession.

Because House obviously didn’t know.

If he’d been told about all those nights Wilson had spent lying alone in bed, talking out loud, there was no way he’d keep it quiet. The mocking potential was too great. Especially since Wilson didn’t talk to himself, like a normal crazy person would.

No, he talked like someone else was there, listening to his gripes and stupid jokes. Most often, it was Amber. But sometimes it wasn’t. And if House knew about that, he would never just let it go.

Whatever was overheard, Lucas hadn’t lied when he told House his name never came up. Wilson had never said his name.

He took another deep breath as he heard the car door slam shut. He could feel House following him and automatically slowed down. It wasn’t even a choice, Wilson realized.

“Hey!” House called after him. “I’m sticking close. I still don’t trust you not to leave me with these hillbillies.”

Wilson stopped in his tracks, cringing and glancing around to see if any large individuals, possibly named Jethro, had heard that. Seeing no signs of trouble, he rolled his eyes. “I can outrun you, you know.”

House arrived by his side. “You can try,” he said, bouncing his cane on the pavement.

Wilson nodded as he and House began to walk, side by side, toward the oasis of vending machines and urinals. He could try, it was true.

But right now the sun and the wind felt pretty good, after so much time in his car or inside with his books and his meetings and his own voice. It seemed stupid to run, Wilson thought, when a slow walk gave him what he needed.

_\--End_


End file.
